


You're Alright

by DarthSuki



Category: RWBY
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 07:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16551707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: After events have Tyrian leaving Salem's influence, you and him start traveling together. Some days are better than others; he's still healing from what he's been through.





	You're Alright

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request on my RWBY writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://rwbywritings.tumblr.com/)

The sun was just over the horizon when the two of you decide to make camp. The actions are practically muscle memory by that point, taking little overt thought to get them done; find wood, set up the hammocks, scout for any major Grimm activity via tracks and other local markings. It’s not a difficult set of tasks by any means, but the challenge comes from your partner.

He’s…not as used to the lifestyle as you are, and it’s very clear he lacks a lot of the important knowledge you took for granted as a hunter.

“Tyrian,” you say, calling from the side of a tree. “Have you set up your hammock yet? You’ll want to do that before the sun falls so you can see everything; I don’t know if we’ll be able to have a strong fire tonight.”

A second passes and you don’t get an answer. It’s not as if he’s too far away either, the man is maybe a dozen paces forward, standing beside a tree with ropes in-hand, but he simply doesn’t respond to your words. A bit of worry drips into your thoughts and you finally walk up beside him.

“Tyrian?” You repeat, voice much gentler than before. “Do you need help?”

You only manage to catch a glimpse of the man’s handiwork (or lack thereoff). The materials are bunched up, the rope knotted in places, and it hardly looks like he knew where to set up the metal hooks into the trunks of the trees; one of them is only half-in, a dangerous issue that could lead someone tumbling to the ground in the middle of the night.

He reacts like a startled animal, whipping around with fear painted on his face.

“No!” 

It comes out nearly as a scream, sending birds flying from where they sat in the trees nearest you both. Then all was silent, tense; Tyrian looked at you for a moment before his expression and body language finally softened enough. Vulnerable.

“I’m…fine, I know how to do this,” he says, lowly. “I’ve seen you do it before.”

Your eyes glance towards the messy bundle of materials near his feet, then back to him, quirking a brow in disbelief before reaching forward and speaking gently,

“It’s okay to ask for help. I can show you how to do this again,” your hands are very slow, deliberate in their motions as you reach out to unfurl the ropes from around his hands and fingers. “There’s a set of trees closer to where I’m set up, it should be easier there.”

Tyrian, without saying anything, begins to gather the rope and canvas.

* * *

By the time the two of you are fully settled down for the night, the sun has dipped far below the horizon line. Night has settled in comfortably, the moon casting a bright, but hazy glow on everything it could reach out and touch.

The fire that you managed to find wood for was weak, but offered just enough light from it’s dancing flames to see yourself and Tyrian as the two of you sat beside one another.

He hasn’t said anything since getting his hammock set up, and it starts to worry you. Knowing better than to touch him without warning, you take in a slow breath and turn your face towards him, premeditating your hand as it reaches out to touch his arm.

“Tyrian, what’s bothering you?”

Your fingertips make contact with his arm, but this time he doesn’t jump; he still feels tense, terribly so, against it. Though he doesn’t respond at first, you don’t try to press him, letting the open, silent air encourage the man to speak.

“…I’m not useless,” he finally mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Useless?”

In the months of knowing him, you’ve grown familiar with Tyrian, familiar enough to know that the man was dealing with a multitude of demons–some real, and some far more intimate. It was sometimes hard to make him open up to you, so the encouragement had to be soft, gentle–he was healing, but still had more to do.

“I’m. Not. Useless,” The man repeats, tone stiff and low. “You don’t need to worry about me fending for myself. You don’t have to worry about me–You don’t need to…” His voice starts to raise, getting a little louder. “I can take care of my own tasks, I’m not–I’m not a  _failure_.” His voice gets even louder, verging onto the edge of hysterics as the emotions pour from him. “I’m not a failure. I’m sorry, I’m sorry–forgive me, please.  **Please**.”

You have a distinct, personal rule between the two of you: no sudden touching. It’s one that has been respected–the reasons may be different for both of you, but it’s still an important aspect that helped build mutual respect for one another.

But hearing Tyrian sound the way he is, you feel a pain in your chest; he’s spiraling, going faster by the moment that he speaks, and you have to stop him before it gets to be too much.

“Tyrian,” you say quickly, shifting your body as best you can so that you are in front of him–so that his eyes see you speaking. “I’m going to hold you now.”

It doesn’t matter if he is actually  _listening_  to your words, especially since he can barely comprehend it over the emotions welling up in him, but it matters that he  _sees_  you saying it, sees you moving closer. You lean forward and reach your arms out until you can wrap them around his body, tight and firm around his form.

“It’s okay,” You murmur. “You’re not a failure. It’s okay.  _You’re okay._ It’s okay to let people help you, Tyrian. Just listen to my voice and breathe–yeah, just like that. It’s alright, it’s alright…”

It takes several minutes to help him down from his panicked spiral.

You can only guess what happened to set it off, but it’s not something that you’ll ask the man directly–not tonight. Instead, you hold him through the episode, whispering all the while.

He mentions the name ‘Salem’ a few times, broken up with apologies and sobs. You don’t know very much about the woman he’s referring to, not personally at least, but you know (and have known) what she did to him. All you can do is calm him down, wrap your arms tight around his body so that his emotions and thoughts are anchored down to something solid and real.

By the time that the fire is dying out, you and him are on the ground, backs to the soft, cold grass. Your arms are still around him, but loosely now, as are his around you. It’s silent, but you can hear the mans heartbeat. You can feel his tail, loosely wrapped around your legs; months ago you would have been terrified of such a gesture, but you’ve come to know it as something sweet, something protective.

Something loving, in Tyrian’s own way of showing it.

The two of you wind up making no use of your hammocks. It’s stupid (really stupid) but the two of you end up falling into a light sleep like that, laying together under the moonlit sky, the last remnants of the fire dying away to darkness.


End file.
